


Harry Osborn - One Shot Collection

by PletroMaximoff



Category: Marvel, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:46:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PletroMaximoff/pseuds/PletroMaximoff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a series of connected tasm!harry osborn x reader one-shots.<br/>There's fluff, smut and angst in here and everything else inbetween.<br/>Also open to requests in the comments! These one-shots are not in chronological order, and instead presented as vignettes of the relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "I'm flirting with you."

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Speedy Squared](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007077) by [PletroMaximoff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PletroMaximoff/pseuds/PletroMaximoff). 



The doors to your lab slide open and the atmosphere changes instantly. Amelia scuttles away from her station immediately, pretending to busy herself with paperwork in the back corner of the room. You turn around in confusion to see Harry Osborn and his assistant stride purposefully towards your boss’ office, and the panicked reactions of your colleagues suddenly makes a lot more sense. You try to spin your chair around quickly before they spot you staring, but you’re not fast enough. Osborn smirks at you before walking past your station.

You turn back to your notes with a frown, wondering what on earth would bring the CEO of the company down to your department when you hear footsteps behind you.

You’re scribble down your notes from you latest findings when a shadow casts across your paper.

You don’t have time to turn around before an hand is leaning down next to your own, and an arm draped lazily over the back of your chair.

“Hello there.” And you turn your head slightly to see none other than Osborn himself.

“Uh…hi?” You offer lamely.

“How are you?”

You frown at that, confused as to the casual direction this conversation is going.

“I’m good?” You bite at your lip nervously. “You?”

“I’m okay. But I’ll be a lot better if you gave me the right answer for my next question.”

“Oh, okay. Sure.”

He leans in closer, pushing you slightly further under your desk, making you frown.

“Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night.” He murmurs quietly.

“Sorry?” You squeak out, feeling your face flush pink.

“Let me take you to dinner.” He repeats.

“Mr Osborn.” You sigh.

“Harry.” He cuts you off with a small smile. “Call me Harry.”

“Okay, Harry. Do you even know my name?”

“Of course I know your name. I know exactly who you are. When one name pops up over and over again, making the types of research developments you have, I was always bound to take notice.” He pauses and huffs out a laugh close to your ear. “It just happened to be a nice bonus when I realised the person the name belonged to was the very pretty girl I find myself staring at every morning when I’m in the elevator.”

You turn to him and frown at that, and he at least has the courtesy to look vaguely bashful and unsure of himself for a second as you follow his eye line and realise your station is in direct sight of the glass elevator that goes all the way up to his top floor office.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m asking you to dinner.” He replies. “and I’d like to think I’m flirting with you.”

You bite back a smile at that, and tilt your head away from him. You sneak a glance at him, and find him doing the same. You smirk at him, turning your chair around to face him, making him stand back up.

“I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll think about it.” He echoes. “but you’ll let me know?”

“I’ll let you know.”

The corners of his mouth quirk up slightly and he bounces on his heels slightly, before turning round to leave.

“Are you not going to re-join your meeting?” You call out after him.

“Meeting?” He turn around with a frown, realisation hitting him as you point towards your boss’s office with your pen. “Oh no, I’m not needed there at all, and I’ve just wrapped up what I came downstairs for.”

* * *

 

Harry Osborn is having a terrible day so far.

His driver had gotten him stuck in traffic for over three quarters of an hour, and he’d already missed a meeting with the head of operations. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a big deal, but to Harry it felt like another mark on his list of failures so far.

When he’d finally reached the tower his mood must be obvious as people part like the red sea as he makes his way to the elevator.

He steps inside it, leaning on the rail and pressing his forehead briefly to the cool glass and closes his eyes for a second. When he reopens them he checks his watch quickly and then finds his gaze drawn to the direction he knows to be yours.

Except your chair is empty.

As the doors slide closed he refocuses his gaze and realises there’s a piece of printer paper taped to the glass above your station. He squints slightly and reads the words ‘pick me up at 7pm’ and it takes him another two times to realise what he’s just read.

You step out from behind the sign, files hugged close to your chest, and a smirk on your face.

He raises his eyebrows at you, and you nod.

Then the elevator begins to move, and you give him a small cheeky wave.

Scratch that, Harry Osborn is having a really good day so far.


	2. "Can I kiss you?"

You’d not felt embarrassed the first time Harry had come over to your apartment. Granted, at the time, neither of you were focused on much of your surroundings other than getting to the bedroom. But in the bright daylight of the morning, you couldn’t help but feel out of your depth.

Your alarm had gone off at the usual time and you’d crawled out of bed, and stumbling into your tiny en-suite bathroom.

When you walked back into the bedroom with wet hair and feeling considerably fresher, Harry is awake as well. He’s sprawled across the bed, lying on his front with his chin in his hand as he watches you potter around the room.

“What are you doing?” He’d frowned, and you can’t help but bite back a smile at the image of him in your bed, hair fluffed up in disarray. But you are absolutely unable to bite back the feeling of satisfaction that you’re the one who made him look like that.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’ve gotten out of bed. Which is very comfortable by the way, I like it. I’ll have to spend a lot more time here.” He smirks at you as you raise your eyebrow at him.

“Well, I, unlike some, am getting ready for work.”

“Why on earth are you doing that?” He’d murmured, reaching his arm out towards you. “Come back to bed.”

“I  _can’t_ , I have work.” You’d laughed, crawling back on to the bed to kiss him. “My boss will kill me.”

“ _I’m_  your boss.” And you yelp out a giggle as he tugs you down on top of him, before rolling you both over. “and  _I’m_  saying come back to bed.”

And that had been the end of that conversation.

Which is why you feel so ridiculous for doubting yourself, and in a way you feel bad for doubting him.

You know Harry likes you, and you wouldn’t be dating if he didn’t. You know that he likes being in your tiny rinky dink apartment more than his own house because, according to him, it feels like home here.

You’re slouched up against him, your back against his side and his arm draped on the back of the sofa next to your head as he watches the financial report on TV. You flip the page of your magazine and are greeted with a page full of celebrity news. Your eyes scan it for anything interesting, and you’re about to turn to the next page when you spot a familiar looking handbag in one of the photographs.

“Oh.” You murmur softly, but it’s apparently loud enough to draw Harry’s attention.

He hums quietly in response, before turning his head to see what you’re looking at.

He scoffs out a laugh when he sees the photographs on the page, and tilts his head against yours.

“Go on, what are they saying about me this time?”

“Oh, not much.” Your tone is light hearted as you point to the photograph in the top right hand corner. “Me on the other hand, they’re saying a lot about me.”

His demeanour shifts instantly, hooking his chin over your shoulder and sliding an arm around your waist as he leans in closer to read the text.

“I think we need to talk about this.”

“About what?” He replies.

“About what you’re wanting from this, and what you’re  _not_  wanting from this.”

He goes stock still next to you, his hand curling around yours on the edge of the magazine.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“I’m not stupid, Harry. You’re in the public eye, in the business world AND in this world. This picture is only of the back of me, so you can still make a decision.”

He frowns at that, and you press onwards.

“I mean, it’s already a thing that you’re the CEO of the company I work for. But then media adds a whole new spin on this.”

You twist around, throwing the magazine down on the coffee table, and kneeling on the sofa next to him.

“I mean. Are you okay with people knowing? If you decide to come visit me in work, can I kiss you? Can I-“

“Hey.” He cuts you off gently. “I asked you out in a lab full of people, what do you think?”

“I just wanted to make sure.”

“If your boyfriend was somebody who worked on the 13th floor in marketing, would you be asking me the same questions?”

“Well, no. But, you’re not from marketing.”

“No, I’m just a kid who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and never even wanted the company in the first place.” He runs a hand down your arm, bringing your hand to his lips, kissing at your fingertips softly. “If you’re not comfortable with the attention this is likely to gather, that’s okay. I’ll understand.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” You grumble, clambering onto his lap.

“I know it’s not.” He murmurs, hands low on your hips. “I’m just bouncing it back onto you so you can hear how you sound. I like you, and I have no issue with people knowing how much I like you. I mean, we’re still at work, and we still have to act professional, but I don’t think a few kisses here and there are going to bring down the stock value of the company, if that’s what you think.”

“Do I really sound that ridiculous?” You sigh, burying your face in his neck.

“Telling me you’re worried about something is never ridiculous. Listen, you’re one of the only normal things in my life, and I want us to just be a normal couple in our early twenties. Yes, there’ll be boundaries because of work, and implied favouritism, but that’d be the same as if you were dating your supervisor. I don’t want this to be uneven, like you feel like you have to ask my permission to do something because you’re worried about what people will think.”

You look up at him and huff loudly.

“I still think it’s polite to ask things of each other sometimes.”

He laughs, and raises an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like, can I please change the channel? I have to deal with enough numbers at work.”

“Well in that case, I’m gonna need to ask something of you in return.”

“Go on..” You squint your eyes at him suspiciously.

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs, nudging his nose against yours, making you smile.

“Sounds like a fair deal, boss man.”


	3. "If you stay quiet, no one will know."

It’s nearly 1pm when you gather your notes up from your desk, standing up to return them to storage at the back of the lab.

“Hey.” Amelia says as you pass by her desk. “Can you grab me file 4 from the Stradivarius folder while you’re in there. I think it’s on the left hand side on the top shelf.”

“Sure, wanna grab lunch when I get back, or do you need it for something right now?” You reply, walking backwards towards the cupboard.

“No, lunch sounds good.” She replies, stretching her arms above her head. “If I keep working, I’m going to burn myself out, I just can leave it on my desk for when we get back.”

“Okay, I’ll be two seconds.”

You open the door and grab the box you need from the middle shelf, setting it down on the small table. You find the coding number you need and slide your notes into the file, putting the box back. You turn around on the spot, scanning the shelves for Amelia’s files, and you think you spot it on the top shelf, pushed back slightly further than the rest of them.

You’re on your tip toes, and you can feel the bottom of your lab coat dragging the back of your skirt up as you attempt to reach the box. A shadow casts over you from the doorway, but you’re so close to grabbing the files, you don’t bother looking away.

“Hey, Ammy!” You call out in greeting, fingers straining on the top shelf. “I’ll be right there. Some asshole has pushed the box too far back, I can’t quite reach it.”

You manage to hook a finger into the handle on the side of the box, and turn to look at Amelia. Except when you turn around, the person stood in front of you is a lot more tall, and a lot less female.

“Oh.” You offer up lamely, your back stiffening. “Mr Osborn.”

He grins at you, taking a step into the cupboard.

“Don’t worry, everyone’s gone. Sent your friend for a long lunch.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and nod.

He barks out a surprised laugh.

“Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Call me  _Mr Osborn_  when you think people are listening?”

You offer up a nonplussed look at the question.

“Well. I mean, you’re my boss. Nobody else calls you Harry, so why should I?”

“Well, I want you to call me Harry.”

“Okay, Harry. What are you doing here?”

“Well I  _had_  come down here to take you to lunch...” He trails off with a smirk.

“Had?” You frown.

He reaches behind himself to snap the door shut behind him.

“That was before I watched you bending over in that skirt.”

You fix him with a glare, and he at least has the decency to look vaguely sheepish.

“A cupboard.” You deadpan, hands on your hips. “Really?”

“It’s a very nice cupboard.” He reasons, shrugging his shoulders.

“Harry.” You hiss. “What are you doing?!”

“You got your wallet on you?” You challenge with a raised eyebrow.

“No, why?”

“Then this isn’t happening.”

He frowns before understanding dawns on his face.

“I thought you were on…” He trails off uncertainly. “y’know, whatever.”

“Yes, but ‘y’know, whatever’” You mimic, emphasising your point with air quotes. “Doesn’t help with the mess afterwards.”

“Well, there’s other things we can do.”

He takes a step towards you, and you take a step back, your hips hitting the table behind you.

He slides his hands around the curve of your hips and lifts you up onto the surface, stepping in between your legs.

“Harry.” You murmur warningly, but your arms loop around his neck regardless.

He presses his lips to yours softly, pulling away slightly to murmur against your mouth.

“What? I’m not doing anything, I just came to say hi.”

“I think we both know you came for something else entirely.”

“Maybe.” He admits. “But this is nice too.”

He moves one hand from your hip and slides it up your thigh, teasing at your underwear at the top of your legs.

“and this is  _very_ nice.”

“Harry.” You gasp. “I’m at work.  _We’re_  at work. Somebody is going to catch us.”

"If you stay quiet, no one will know." He murmurs into your ear, hand pressed against you through your underwear. “Though with how noisy you are, I can understand if it’s a challenge you don’t want to accept.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Now that is pot calling the kettle black.” He laughs, pressing his lips to yours.

You can’t help but reciprocate the kiss, and you gasp into his mouth as his fingers tease at you. He slides his tongue against yours and his fingers hook around your underwear, pulling it to the side exposing you to the overheated air of the cupboard, and you can’t help the incredulous thought that you honestly can’t believe you’re about to be fingered by Harry Osborn in a fucking  _storage_  cupboard and-

Then the door swings open and there’s a yelp of surprise from the doorway and you pull away from Harry to look over his shoulder, and his hand jumps away, but otherwise he’s utterly undeterred, pressing open mouth kisses to the column of your throat.

Your eyes widen as you spot Amelia stood in the door way, looking at the both of you with equally wide eyes, her coat in her hand.

“I forgot my jacket?” She offers up lamely. “and I was wondering where you were and-god! Sorry! I’ll just. Go! I’m going!”

You push Harry away quickly, scrambling off of the table.

“Ammy! No, wait!” You rush out of the cupboard, fixing your skirt as you jog after her.

She’s scuttling out quickly and you catch up to her just before the automatic doors of the lab open. You grab at her wrist and she spins round instantly, laughing.

“In the storage cupboard, oh my god!”

“I swear to god that has never happened before.”

“In the storage cupboard, or with Harry Osborn?” You feel the colour drain from your face, and she scoffs. “Oh please, like I didn’t recognise him?!”

You stare at each other for a moment, before she’s leaning in excitedly.

“Have you had sex with him?” She whispers in glee, and your silence in itself is an answer. “Oh my  _god._ You’re banging the CEO?!”

She pauses for a second, and sheer delight takes over her expression.

“Wait a second. Is that where you keep disappearing off to at lunch too?” She lets out a gasp of disbelief. “Oh my god, you’re  _dating_  the CEO. You’re Harry Osborn’s mystery girlfriend everyone is talking about!”

“I’m!” You reply loudly, crowding her away from the door of the lab and lowering your voice. “He’s not! Just. Please pretend you didn’t see that, and never mention this to anyone. He’s not my boyfriend, okay?”

“I’d like a second opinion on that verdict, your honour.” A voice calls out from behind you, and Amelia grins at something behind you.

You glance over your shoulder to where she’s looking, to see Harry leaning casually against the wall, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, and tapping away at his phone with the other.

“Yep. Still here.” He offers up, typing out a few more words, then locking his phone. “and I just ordered lunch for both of you lovely ladies. All paid for, the courier should be here within ten.”

Then he’s pushing off from the wall, striding purposefully towards the door.

“Oh.” Amelia starts to call after him, a finger raised questioningly in the air. “I’m a-“

“Vegan.” Harry cuts her off, not unkindly. “I know, I’ve been told.”

You look at him questioningly, amazed that he remembered something you barely remembered mentioning in passing.

He looks from the elevator and then back to you, and seems to make a decision.

He walks back over to you, and looks at you for a second. He leans in and you turn your head slightly, his nose bumping into yours as he presses his lips to your cheek. He frowns at you, and uses a finger to turn your chin towards him and he presses a simple chaste kiss to your lips, before stepping away.

“Wonderful to meet you, Amelia. Sorry about the circumstances. Oscorp thanks you for your contribution, and hopefully discretion. Enjoy the food!” And he mocks bows, raising an amused eyebrow which makes her snort out a laugh, and then he’s gone.

You watch him make his way back to the elevator and Amelia moves to stand next to you, waving back at Harry when he salutes.

You watch the elevator ascend in silence for a second before she nudges you in the side.

“So.” Amelia grins. “Did you find the Stradivarius file?”


	4. “Wake up. you don’t want to sleep on the couch all night, do you? C'mon come to bed.”

The wood flooring of Harry’s living room is cold beneath your bare feet as you creep through the room, switching off the lights.

You step out into the sofa area and find Harry still curled up in the same spot he’d been in an hour ago. He’s sat with his legs underneath him, glasses balanced precariously on his nose and files strewn all around him. He’s sat under the dim glow of the standing lamp next to him. You walk around the back of the sofa, and he’s so caught up in his reading he doesn’t even notice you there until you’re leaning down to touch him.

“Hey, you coming to bed?” You murmur in his ear, arms looped around his neck as you press a kiss to his cheek.

He leans into the touch, touching at your hands on his chest lightly.

“Yeah, I’m just finishing up here. I’ll be 15 minutes, 20 at most, if you wanna go to bed now.”

“Can you not finish it tomorrow?”

He tilts his head up to look at you and shakes his head.

“I need these all completed by tomorrow afternoon.” He trails off. “I-uh. May have told Felicia I’d read over everything days ago.”

“You’re a brave man, lying to that woman.” You laugh, stroking his fringe off of his forehead. “Miss Hardy has  _claws._ ”

He laughs loudly, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Don’t be stupid, Felicia likes you.”

“I know, she likes me better than she likes you, and she still scares me a little.” You grin, bending down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t be up all night.”

“I won’t.” He replies softly, squeezing your hand as you unwind your arms. “Like I said, 20 minutes tops.”

* * *

 

You wake up suddenly in the early hours, and you’re not sure why. The covers has ridden down your back in the night, and you’re shivering cold. You roll over towards Harry intending to fling an arm over him and bask in the insane amount of body heat he radiates. Except when you roll over, your arm just touches cold sheets. Most of the time you thoroughly enjoy the fact Harry has a superking size bed, but right now the sheer size of it makes it seem even emptier than it actually is.

You blearily blink your eyes open at the clock and it blinks ‘2:34am’ back at you. You stare at his empty side of the bed for a moment, waiting, on the off chance he’s gone to the bathroom. But the coldness of the sheets and the silence in the apartment have you thinking otherwise.

Finally you make a decision, you huff in exasperation, sliding out of bed, thanking the lord that at least the bedroom is carpeted.

You softly pad your way to the living room, and you can already see the soft glow of the lamp from the corridor.

When you make your way into the living room, Harry’s still curled up on the sofa, fast asleep. His elbow on the arm of the sofa, and his cheek is rested on his closed fist, sat amongst a sea of manila files.

You almost feel bad about waking him up he looks so serene, but you think about how cold the bed is, and how awful the crick in his neck will be if you let him sleep like this any longer.

“Harry?” You murmur softly, shaking at his shoulder gently. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

He murmurs slightly, and so you shake him again.

“Harry, wake up. You don’t want to sleep on the couch all night, do you?”

You shake him again harder and he startles awake suddenly, making you take a step backwards in surprise.

“Jesus!” He gasps, before focusing his eyes on you, settling back into the seat. “Shit, sorry.”

“No, that was me, sorry. I woke you up.”

He pushes his glasses up onto his head and rub at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“What time is it?” He groans, dragging a hand down his face.

“2:30.” You reply, shuffling his papers into a neat pile.

“Why are you awake?” He frowns, and you shrug in response.

“Dunno, just woke up.” You murmur, looking at the mass of paper surrounding him. “You finish your work?” 

“Yeah, I must have just dozed off. Sorry, I kinda forgot you were here.”

“Oh!” You scoff. “Charming.”

His eyes widen, and he backtracks quickly.

“No, I just mean. I’m not used to other people being here! Much less someone waiting up for me.”

You purse your lips at him, and he smiles sheepishly.

“Smooth recovery, I’ll give you that one. Well. I am here, and I was in a very big bed on my own, and it was very cold.” You smile at him softly, holding out your hands. “C'mon, come to bed.“

He grabs your hands and you pull him up from the sofa with ease. When he stands, he stretches his arms above his head, and his back cracks loudly, and he sighs in relief.

“That sounded both 100% satisfying and 100% disgusting, I hope you know that.”

“Also known as a summary of being in a relationship with me?” He laughs softly, bringing one arm down around your shoulders, tucking you against his side as you walk back to the bedroom.

“Well, you’re not wrong there.”

You make your way into the bedroom and climb over the bed whilst Harry walks around to his side. You roll away from him, and when you don’t hear him move, you turn back around to find him sleepily struggling to unbutton his shirt.

You giggle softly in the darkness, kneeling up on the bed and shuffling over to him, helping his fumbling fingers with the buttons of his shirt.

“Harry Osborn; can run a company, but can’t undress himself.” You tease, grinning at him.

He hums quietly, stroking a hand over the curve of your hip.

“Mm, why do you think I keep you around?”

“Cheeky.”

“and that’s why you keep  _me_  around.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s the money.” You press your lips to his and you feel him smile sleepily against you. “that, and the internet speed in this apartment.”

“What? Not even my good looks?” He croons as your push his shirt down off of his shoulders.

“They can be an added bonus sometimes, I suppose.” You placate, sliding his glasses off of his face and placing them gently on the bedside table. “Think you can manage the pants yourself, hotshot?”

“I’d much prefer if you did it, sweetheart.”

You prod at his chest gently, falling back onto the bed.

“It’s like 3am, and I’m tired. Go away.” You huff, and he chuckles.

“I know, I just like riling you up sometimes.”

There’s a shuffling of clothes and then the mattress dips besides you as his arms wind around your waist, pulling you against his side.

“I can’t believe you forgot I was here, you’re an asshole.”

“I said I was sorry!” He murmurs, nudging his nose into your hair.

“Whatever. You’re making breakfast tomorrow.” You huff, rolling away from him.

He follows you across the bed, plastering himself to your back, tangling his legs with your own.

“Bringing or making?” He mumbles into your neck.

“Making. But for asking that question you can bring me lunch as well.”

“What about dinner? What would the princess want then?” He teases, blowing on your ear softly.

You shiver against him, catching his hand with your own as it slides across your waist.

You turn your head to press your smirking lips against his, all awkward angles and completely off centre, but he appreciates the gesture anyway.

“Either option will probably end up in dessert, so I’ll leave that one up to you.”

“Yeah?” He murmurs, hand sliding low on your belly, teasing at the elastic of your underwear. “What option is likely to have my dessert on all fours?”

You huff loudly, and elbow him in the ribs not-so-gently.

“Should have left you on the goddamn sofa.”


	5. "I love you, but I really wish I didn't."

You take a deep breath and read Felicia’s text again, hoping desperately that this time you’ll discover a clue as to what it’s about, to prepare yourself for what you’re about to find, but you don’t. The message still just reads a simple;

‘Go to him. He’s at the apartment. I’m sorry.”

You step into the elevator, inputting the security code, and selecting the top floor. The doors slide shut after you, and you take a deep breath. You chew at your thumbnail nervously, tapping your foot as the elevator makes it’s ascent to Harry’s apartment (your apartment? You spend so much time at each other’s places you wonder absently if it’s possible to live with your boyfriend at two different addresses.)

Your train of thought is cut off as the doors slide open, and in front of you, the door to the apartment is slightly ajar. The corridor is completely private and inaccessible to anyone without the elevator code, but the sight makes your blood run cold regardless. You rush towards the door pushing it open without a second thought.

The apartment is still and silent, and you don’t know where to start until you notice the door leading towards the living area is wide open. Harry has a bad habit of leaving doors open wherever he goes. Something about being too used to people closing them for him when he’s in the office, and it’s a habit he’s never quite been able to shake, for the most part.

You toe off your shoes at the door, hanging up your jacket and creep your way through the apartment.

You find him on the sofa, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, staring out of the window.

You bite your lip as you take a good look at him. He looks rumpled and tired, and it’s a stark contrast to the put together persona he displays out in the open.

“Harry.” You call softly from the doorway and he turns his head to the side, enough to look at you out of the corner of his eye. From this angle you can see the cut on his face, and the blood trickling down slowly.

You gasp out his name, rushing over to him.

“What have you done to your face?” You murmur, crouching down low in front of him.

He doesn’t respond, only frowns at you in confusion.

“What are you doing here?”

“Felicia text me.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing, she just told me where you were.” You reply, standing back up.

“Good.”

“Harry…” You frown.

“You need to leave.” He bangs down his glass on the table suddenly, standing up and herding you back towards the front door.

“What’s going on?” You try to run a hand down his arm, but he bats you away.

“Go home.”

“This is my home.”

“Go home.” He repeats, his voice firmer. “Go home, and don’t come back here.”

“Are you…are you breaking up with me?” You stare at him wide eyed.

He stares back at you fiercely, but his eyes soften, and you can tell it’s an action you weren’t meant to see.

“I’m trying to.” He murmurs softly.

“Why?!” You demand.

“Because it’s easier this way,”

“Harry, what are you talking about?” You exclaim, crowding yourself towards him.

You cup his face, making him look at you, and you expect him to push you away. Instead he just looks at you all dark circles and sad eyes, and you can feel your heart break a little.

“Just tell me what’s going on.” You whisper, pressing your forehead against his. “Tell me what’s going on, so I can help.”

His back stiffens, and you know instantly you’ve said the wrong thing.

“You can’t help me.” He murmurs. “There’s only one person who can help me, and he  _won’t._ ”

“Harry…” Your voice is soft and pleading. “I don’t understand, please just tell me.”

“You want me to tell you?” His voice is sharp and taunting. “Would you like me to explain how our city’s very own hero can help me, but he won’t? Would you like me to explain to you how as soon as things seem like they might be okay, they all fall to shit?”

He takes a step closer to you, crowding into your personal space.

“Would you like me to explain how I’m 20 years old, and I’ve just been handed a death sentence?”

You feel your heart rise up into your throat, and your blood feels like ice in your veins.

“W-what are you talking about?”

“Just GO!” He roars suddenly, an arm sweeping across the counter, the glass fruit bowl shattering across the floor.

You step backwards in shock at his outburst and a shard of glass embeds itself in your foot, making you cry out in pain.

Harry’s head snaps around immediately as you wobble on one foot, unable to move due to the combination of glass on the floor and your bare feet.

He looks at you, and the way your chest heaves as you let out ragged breaths, trying not to cry.

“Shit.”

He steps back, and the glass crunches under his sneakers as he surveys the damage.

“ _Shit._ ”

You slap a hand against the refrigerator to stop yourself from falling into the glass and he rushes forwards, scooping you up into his arms.

You can’t help the whimper that escapes you as he cradles you against his chest, carrying you back to the sofa.

He sets you down and goes back to rummage through the drawers for the first aid kit. When he returns he sits pressed close against you, pulling your foot into his lap.

He cradles your foot in his hands gently and carefully, and the room falls silent for a moment as you wait for him to speak, and he figures out what to say.

“It’s hereditary.” He murmurs softly as he works the glass out of your foot.

You make a soft noise, and neither one of you are sure what pain it’s in response to.

He drops the bloodied glass into the lid of the first aid kit, before smoothing antiseptic cream over the wound, and unravelling a gauze strip and cloth bandage.

“He called it the Osborn curse.” He laughs bitterly. “Said it was the greatest inheritance he could possibly give me.”

He smooths the bandage down over your foot, kissing at your ankle bone gently.

You reach out a hand to stroke his cheek, and he captures it in his own.

“I’m dying.” He whispers into your cupped hand, like he’s breathing out the secret, giving it to you to keep tight hold of. “I’m dying, I’m 20 years old, and I’m dying.”

“I love you.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your palm. “I love you so much, but I wish I didn’t. I wish this was easier.”

You grasp as his chin firmly, making him look at you.

“Don’t you ever say that again.” You snarl. “Don’t you ever wish for that.”

His eyes widen in confusion as your grip turns painful.

“You think it’d be easier for you by making it harder for me? With me being the only one hurting?”

He understands then, the real meaning behind his words and his face falls.

“You think you’re being fucking…. _noble_ , pushing me away?” You try to stay angry but the tears fall thick and fast.

Harry drops your foot back down onto the sofa, bundling you into his arms.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, lips pressed against your forehead, his voice choked up and thick. “I don-I just. I’m sorry.”

You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, and when you press your lips to his you can’t tell if you’re tasting his tears or your own.

“We’ll figure something out.” You whisper, and he nods against you frantically. “I promise.”


	6. "I want to be yours."

It get's worse at night.

You don’t know whether it’s to do with his sleeping pattern, or it’s just the stress at the end of the day that makes it worse.

But it’s always worse at night.

Sometimes it’s little things, he’ll lose his grip on his cutlery when you’re eating dinner. He’ll clench his fist until his knuckles turn white and pick his fork back up. He doesn’t mention it, so you pretend not to have noticed.

Sometimes it’s bigger things, his hand twitching so badly the beer bottle slips out of his grasp and smashes as it hits the floor. The people around you at the bar cheer loudly as tradition, and you grasp his hand tightly in yours, leaning heavily into his side.

“Hotshot here has obviously had one too many, that was clearly a sign from the gods.” You laugh lightly to Peter and Gwen, squeezing Harry’s fingers reassuringly. “I think we’re going to head out.”

You give them both friendly and affectionate kisses on the cheek, Gwen making you promise you’ll text her when you get home. When you pull away from Peter the look in his eyes and the sad smile he gives you are almost haunting.

In that instant, you know he knows. You don’t know how.

But he knows.

* * *

 

It gets worse at night.

He wakes you up sometimes, curled up on himself and trying to muffle his whimpers as he presses his forearm against the mattress, frantically trying to stop the shaking.

He apologises for waking you as you plaster yourself to his back, sliding your fingers down his twitching arm and lacing them with his.

He shakes you off, climbing out of bed, and leaving the room and you know it’s not you. You’ve read all the books, stashed under lock and key in your desk at work. You know that him pushing you away is him coping with the grief about what is steadily approaching.

But when you’re sat alone in bed, listening to his choked off gasps from the living room as he tries not to cry, you want nothing more than to pull him closer and all he does is push you away.

It’s always worse at night.

* * *

 

Then they stop.

You both relish in it, hands tangled with his whenever you’re close enough, and pressing kisses against his fingers, grinning all the while.

You’re curled up on the sofa watching TV, and he won’t change the channel to something that isn’t infuriatingly boring. You lean in close, describing in breathy tones in his ear the number of things you could both be doing with the rest of your Sunday. He ignores you mostly, but the way the corners of his mouth twitch and he shifts in his seat let you know you’re winning. It’s when you nip gently at his earlobe he turns to you with an amused look and he presses a firm finger to your nose, pushing at your face gently until you back up.

You catch his hand in yours and he frowns as you stroke your fingertips over his palms gently.

“Have I ever told you I love your hands?” You murmur softly, and his face shifts back to amusement, letting you explore. “So strong, and firm. Always so sure of yourself.”

You hold your hand up against his, tapping your fingertips against his, relishing in the size difference.

“So big, make me feel so safe.” You whisper, before sliding his hand down lower. “Make me feel  _so_  many things.”

That’s how you end up on your back on the sofa, legs splayed open, as he decides to remind you just how much you love his fingers.

* * *

 

Then the pains start.

They don’t get worse at night, because they’re bad all the time.

It’s a development neither of you were expecting, and you try not to worry, but the way Harry looks at you sometimes makes it hard to do anything but.

You try to help the best you can but he gives nothing, and you can’t do anything except take everything.

It’s your day off, and you’re in your apartment, curled up in bed. It’s the middle of the afternoon, but you were trying to catch up on sleep. The pains had kept him awake, and you’d felt too guilty to sleep.

God, you were so wrong, it’s getting so much worse at night.

You’re seconds away from nodding off when you hear the scrape of a key in the lock, and a door shutting.

You roll over on top of the covers to see Harry stood in the doorway. He lets his satchel slide off of his shoulder, and his tablet means it makes a loud  _thump_  as it hits the floor. His face is pale and pained, and he looks more tired than even you feel.

“Oh, sweetheart.” You breathe out.

He looks at his feet for a second, then looks back up at you, his lip wobbling slightly before he steels himself. You hold out your hand towards him, and he climbs onto the bed, not even bothering to take his shoes off, and straight into your outstretched arms.

“It’s getting worse.” He whispers softly into the crook of your neck, and you don’t know if he’s admitting it to you or himself. “I can feel it buzzing under my skin. It never stops, and it’s only ever going to get worse.”

“I know.”

““You don’t have to do this anymore.” He stammers. “I ca-I can give you back your key and I can-. You don’t want to be here for this.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t want anybody to be here for this.” You whisper, your voice thick. “I don’t want to be here for this, because this shouldn’t be happening. But it is, so here I am.”

He nudges his nose into your cheek, and you lean into the touch.

“I want to be yours.” You swallow thickly. “I want to be here, with you.”

He presses his forehead against yours and uses his free hand to fumble in his pocket for something.

“I was gonna make it special. Like you deserve, but I can barely even hold your hand properly anymore.” He gasps out. “Not without it hurting, not without-“

You hush him gently, nuzzling your nose against his.

“I want to. I want to, so much.” He babbles, bringing a hand up to the side of your head, keeping you close. “But I want to be able to do it as  _me_. I want to be able to stand next to you, and dance with you, and cut the cake and-“

“Harry.” You murmur gently. “What are you talking about?”

He pushes a small box in your hands, and you feel your breath catch in your throat.

“Harry…” You choke out, grabbing at his fingers when he tries to pull away.

“It’s okay, if you don’t. I just. There’s stipulations, on the life insurance. It’s easier, if we were. I just want-“ His breath hitches. “I just want to make sure you’re looked after before it-before I. I just want to make you happy, I know to know you’ll be okay.”

“I just said. I  _just_  said, that I’m not leaving.” You mutter frantically, climbing into his lap and cradling his head in the bracket of your arms. “I’m yours, and I will be for as long as you let me.”

He looks up at you with sad eyes, bowing his head.

“I just wish I had more time to give you.”

* * *

 

You’re woken up that night by him writhing in the bed.

You roll over, and reach out for him, and you’re surprised when he comes to you without protest, burying his face into your chest, and how still he is makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention.

When he speaks his voice broken and hollow, and the ring on your finger suddenly feels as heavy as your heart.

“It’s the other one. It’s the other hand.”

It’s always worse at night.


	7. "Is that my shirt?"

You’ve just taken the eggs out of the fridge when you hear Harry making his way out of the bedroom.

You look over your shoulder to watch him enter the room, and he’s pulling his trousers over his hips and buckling his belt, a panicked look on his face.

“Hey, have you seen my…” He trails off as he looks up at you. “Is that my shirt?”

You blink at him a couple of times, before stammering out your reply.

“I-yes? Why, are you going somewhere?”

“Last minute meeting. A client’s schedule has changed, so they want me in the office in the next..” He pauses to look at his watch. “45 minutes?”

“Oh.” And it’s hard to hide the disappointment in your voice. “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t know where you threw mine last night, and my closet doors creak, and I didn’t want to wake you up. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” He waves you off. “Well, it’s actually more than fine.”

His fastens his belt finally and looks at you properly, taking in the way the shirt is falling off one shoulder slightly, and hitting several inches above your knees.

“Absolutely more than fine.” He breathes out.

You raise an eyebrow at him, and he rushes towards you. Dextrous fingers working to undo the buttons of the shirt.

“Harry!” You hiss, grabbing at his hands. “The curtains are wide open!”

“We’re 6 stories up! Nobody is gonna see! Besides, kinda need my shirt back!”

“I’m not fulfilling your weird fantasy of me cooking your breakfast while I’m naked!”

His hands still immediately.

“Are you seriously not wearing underwear right now?” He smirks at you before hooking a finger into the shirt, pulling it away from your body and casting his eyes down the gap he’s created. “Mmm, that’s a hard no then.”

He kisses you fiercely, a firm hand on your hip as he pushes you against the refrigerator.

“Breakfast can wait.” He mumbles against your lips as he hoists you up onto the counter.

“Your meeting can’t, Harry.” You laugh through his kisses.

He looks at his watch out of the corner of his eyes, and tilts his head thoughtfully.

“We’ve got time.”

“Mmm, but it’ll be so much better if you wait.”

“I completely disagree.” He replies, sliding his hands up your legs, pushing the shirt up your legs.

“You’ll only be gone an hour.” You croon softly, pulling the material back down. “and I’ll still be here, waiting for you to get back.”

He tries to kiss you again, and you press three fingers against his mouth, stopping him.

“It’ll be terribly boring of course. Me, alone. Thinking about you. Not wearing any underwear.” You sigh dramatically. “But I suppose I’ll find  _something_  to do.”

He groans underneath your fingers, and you laugh, sliding them from his mouth to the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” He murmurs, pressing his lips to yours.

You hum happily, smiling into the kiss.

“Your blue shirt is in the closet, I think there’s a tie on the hanger too. The black skinny, maybe?”

He pulls away reluctantly, and when he hesitates for a moment, you flick him on the ear.

“Go get dressed, hotshot.”

* * *

 

“How do I look?” He asks with a grin, wandering back into the living room.

You turn away from the pan of eggs to appraise him, and he holds out his hands expectantly. You pick up his sunglasses from the counter and slide them onto his nose, before straightening his blazer.

“Like you need to hurry up and get back here.” You murmur, pressing your lips to his. “Sooner you go, the sooner you’re back, so beat it.”

He presses a firm kiss to your cheek, swiping his phone off of the counter, and then he’s heading for the door.

“Text me when you’re on your way back!” You call after him, and he pops his head back in to the apartment.

“Keep the shirt on.” He requests with a smile, then tilts his head thoughtfully. “Or don’t, I’m partial to either option.”

“Harry. Go.”

He flashes you a charming grin, offers up a mock salute, and then he’s gone.

* * *

 

The meeting is as boring as he expected, but thankfully not as long. The cool morning air on his face is refreshing and makes a solid attempt at taking the edge off of his antsy mood.

He remembers to text you when the car pulls away from the curb.

He drums his fingers impatiently on the window frame of the back seat waiting for your reply.

His phone buzzes in his hand and he uses his thumbprint to unlock it and opens your message without even looking at the screen. He looks away from the hustle and bustle outside of the car and to your text and promptly chokes on air as he inhales sharply.

He decides, as he looks at the picture you’ve just sent him, he’s never been more thankful in his life to have a driver.


	8. Pinball Wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aaand here's the big meaty 5k first date fic! This one, chronologically, takes place between the first and second chapters. Enjoy!

Twenty minutes after you peel the sign off of the glass, your phone buzzes.

 _‘Cute. You’re cute.’_  The message reads.

 _‘Illegal. Taking employee’s phone numbers from their files is illegal.’_ You tap out in response, grinning all the while.

It takes a while for the response to come through, and you forget about it for a while. It’s a full 20 minutes later when your phone vibrates again, and you can’t help but bark out a laugh.

_‘I’ll be sure to let Felicia know of her indiscretions.’_

* * *

 

The texting continues well into the night, and into the morning.

You’re surprised to find that Harry is actually, all things considered, a pretty regular 20 year old. He has a dry sense of humour, and sarcasm exuding from every pore, but you can more than hold your own against it and find yourself in a comfortable rhythm of bouncing off of each other’s snark.

It’s intriguing to you that Harry doesn’t even attempt to play it cool, like you’d expect him to. Instead as soon as you hit send on a message, he’s typing out a reply.

It’s confusing and refreshing all at once, considering the dating scene in New York City in general, paired with the fact your workplace only hires the best and brightest, you have yet to go on a date with somebody who acts like they’re actually interested in getting to know you, and not just your research.

That being said, you’ve never been on a date with somebody who’s read your file either.

* * *

 

When morning rolls around and you’re sat at your desk, you hear him coming, but you don’t see him. Your hair is purposely covering your face, shielding any glimpse of your features from anyone outside the lab, as you scribble down some of your notes. You can time it almost to the second when you hear the crackle of Harry’s bodyguard’s walkie-talkie as they walk past the door. You can’t help but grin to yourself as the sound stays constant for a moment, as if they’ve stopped, then there’s a murmur and the sound travels further away.

Ten seconds later your phone buzzes on the desk next to you and you open the message. It’s from Harry and its one word.

_“Cheeky.”_

You wait 30 seconds to be sure that the elevator will have moved to a height where you’re no longer visible, before sitting up properly and replying to the message.

_‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’_

You bite your lip, deleting the text and rewriting it 3 times. Your finger hovers over the send button, when you decide to add a winky face to the end of the text, throwing your phone down in panic when you hit send.

The device vibrates noisily against the glass surface less than 30 seconds later, and you can’t help but laugh at the response.

_‘Definitely cheeky. :) ’_

* * *

 

It’s 6:41pm when your intercom buzzer goes off. You huff unhappily in the midst hanging up your third rejected outfit choice, rushing to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” Harry’s voice is distorted, but soft. “You ready?”

“Considering that you’re 20 minutes early, no. I am not ready.”

“Oh.”

“You have a jacket?” You ask, examining your fingernails. Maybe there is time to repaint them after all.

“Yeah, why?”

“Good. You won’t be cold while you wait for me.” You laugh, letting go of the button.

* * *

 

You step into the elevator 32 minutes later, straightening your jacket and reapplying your lipstick in the mirror.

The door slides open behind you and Harry is stood there, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. He makes to step into the elevator when he looks up and spots you, making eye contact with you in the mirror.

“Hi.” You offer brightly, popping the cap back onto your lipstick and sliding it into your bag. “Looking for me?”

He holds a hand out to stop the doors from closing and tilts his head at you curiously.

“Hi.” His gaze following you as you squeeze past him. “Yeah, I thought you said 7?”

“I did. But then you showed up early, so I watched some TV. You had somewhere warm to sit, I figured you’d be okay.”

He lets out a surprised laugh, leading you outside.

“Why did you do that?”

“To let you know that when I say 7pm, I mean 7pm.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” He grins, opening the car door for you.

You raise your eyebrows at him and he just grins wider.

“Next time?”

“I’m optimistic.” He replies, climbing in after you.

You roll your eyes, but can’t help but smiles softly, turning in your seat to face him.

“So, hotshot. Where are you taking me?”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eyes at the nickname, knocking once on the window, and the car starts moving.

“I figured we could go for dinner at Masa. Maybe grab some drinks afterwards.”

“Masa.” You echo thoughtfully. “Isn’t the sushi place where the chef decides for you what you eat, then charges you $2500 for the privilege?”

“I’m paying, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He smirks, nudging his foot against yours.  

You narrow your eyes at him and frown slightly.

“No.” You decide, leaning your chin on your fist and looking out of the window. “I don’t wanna do that.”

“You…Okay.” He sounds vaguely put-out. “You realise I made reservations, right?”

You turn to raise an eyebrow at him, and he meets your stare, a challenge in his eyes.

“You mean you asked Felicia to make reservations at the swankiest, most expensive restaurant she could pull strings for on short notice. Right?”

His expressions turns sheepish, or as sheepish as Harry Osborn can possibly look, and you know you’ve got him.”

“You’ve never really been out in New York, have you?” You ask softly. “I know you haven’t been back long in the grand scheme of things.”

He shrugs, staring out of the window.

“Okay, I have an idea. I know  _you_  asked  _me_  out, but I figured I could show you some of the places I know. Like an actual date rather than…” You click your fingers, searching for the word you want. “Rather than you splashing cash around to impress me.”

“Can I not do both?”

“You can, but I don’t want you to. I didn’t agree to a date with Harry Osborn.” You shrug, and he looks confused. “I agreed to a date with Harry, the guy who snuck out of his office to ask me out to dinner, citing my work achievements as a reason he found me interesting. Besides, neither of us are 21, so I’m not sure where you were planning on going for drinks.”

He chuckles softly.

“I know some places.”

“Well that didn’t sound suspicious at all.” You laugh.

He shoots you a withering look that you match with folded arms.

You stare at each other for a moment, and then the cab next to you in the traffic leans on his horn, breaking you out of your spontaneous staring contest.

“Okay.” He relents finally. “Where do you wanna go?”

You think about it for a moment, before you realising you know the perfect place.

“Will this guy listen to me?” You tilt your head towards the partition between the two of you and Harry’s driver. “Or is he voice activated?”

“Hey, Henry!” Harry calls out.

“Harry and Henry?” You laugh. “That’s cute, I like that.”

“Henry, take us where the lady wants to go.” He turns to you expectantly, and you lean forwards towards to partition.

“Hey, Henry! Nice to meet you!” You greet him cheerfully. “Could you take us to Essex Street, on the Upper East Side? It’s right near the Mercury Lounge.”

You lean back in your seat and you find Harry has used the opportunity to press himself closer to your side.

“Okay, so where are  _you_  taking  _me_?” He smiles.

“You’ll see when we get there.” You tease, nudging at his knee with your own.

The traffic is light in the city, and Henry is obviously used to using all the best shortcuts and quietest roads in the city. It’s a short drive in the end, but it’s long enough for you and Harry to break through the barriers of hesitance, and start a real conversation.

He asks you about work, and home, and a variety of other things. You’re surprised when the conversation flows as easily and comfortably as it did over text. Even more surprised that Harry seems to be legitimately interested in your answers too.

The car slows to a stop outside your destination, and Harry gives you an indescribable look when he sees where you’ve brought him.

“What?”

“A retro arcade? Really?”

“There’s vaguely well priced craft beer and pacman machines, what else could you want?”

“Weren’t you just complaining about us drinking underage?” He arches an eyebrow with a smirk.

“Hey, I didn’t say we could drink it, just that it’s there.” You smile, opening the car door.

“I presume you carry change?” You ask as you climb out, and wait for him to him to make his way around the car. “Or does somebody like Harry Osborn even know what a denomination as low as a quarter looks like?”

He rolls his eyes and hovers his hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the door. From the outside, the building is pretty non-descript, but inside it’s a cacophony of sound and colour with the theme tunes playing simultaneously from several different machines.

“Okay. This is awesome.” Harry murmurs. “I don’t think I’ve seen this many colours in one place since that google executive’s kid gave me acid at boarding school.”

You side-eye him with half amusement, half judgement.

“That was a joke, don’t worry.” He laughs, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “It was MDMA.”

“I’m quickly learning that you’re completely insufferable, and I’m developing an urge to put you in your place.” You murmur. “So, what games are you good at?”

He looks around you both in a circle, assessing what machines there are.

“I played pinball a lot as a kid, I guess?” He offers. “Not sure I’d say I’m good though.”

“Excellent!” You exclaim brightly, tugging gently at his shirt. “We can start with air hockey then.”

* * *

 

“Oh, no way…” Harry says suddenly, looking over your shoulder from where you’re sat at the bar.

“What?” You frown, swivelling your bar stool around to follow his gaze.

“I used to have one of those when I was a kid!” He laughs, sliding off of the bar stool, walking over to one of the unoccupied pinball machines. “I mean, this exact type!”

He tests the flippers out a couple of times, grinning all the while.

“Wanna play a game?” You offer. “Winner is the one who keeps the game going the longest. Loser buys the next round.”

“Sounds good to me. Ladies first?” He offers, taking his hand off of one side, allowing you to step in front of the machine.

“You ever used one before?” He asks when you look unsure.

“Not in a while.” You admit. “I prefer video games.”

“Here.” He murmurs, bringing his other arm back around you and moving in closer. He guides your hands to the flippers, covering them with his own. “It’s all about nudging and trapping. If you trap the ball with the flipper you can relaunch it yourself, and score a ton of points.”

“Okay. That’s trapping? So what’s nudging?”

“It’s when you literally nudge the table. You have to be careful though, if you do it too much, the machine knows you’re…well, I mean it’s not cheating, but yeah, and it’ll declare you a loser.”

“Oh my god.” You breathe out, turning your head towards him slightly. “You’re a fucking nerd!”

“I know how to play pinball, how does that make me nerdy?” He retorts, sounding genuinely offended.

“Yeah, you know how to play pinball, but you have to plaster yourself to my back to help me use the flippers? I’m onto you, Osborn.”

He lets out a huff, hooking his chin over your shoulder.

“What?” You laugh. “The rich pretty boy has never had anybody call him out on his shit before?”

He chuckles low in your ear, leaning around slightly to press his lips to your cheek.

“You really think I’m pretty?” He croons, lips grazing at your skin.

The elbow to the ribs seems to be a good enough answer for him.

* * *

 

It’s just coming up to 11 o’ clock when you step out into the brisk autumn air, and you’ve gone through more quarters than you care to add up.

“How about we go for a walk?” You suggest, looping your arm through his where his hand is pressed deep in his pocket.

“Anywhere in particular?”

“The river always looks nice at night, c’mon.” You reply, tugging him down the main street.

It’s not a long walk by any means, but it’s a comfortable distance that means you get to carry on your conversation. There’s an uncomfortable moment when you pass by a bar and a group of girls in the smoking area outside clearly recognise him, but he doesn’t even notice their stares, and you walk by unscathed and with a smug sense of satisfaction that he’s apparently paying  _that_  much attention to you.

You’re on the promenade before quarter past the hour, and the water laps peacefully at the walls below you, the Williamsburg Bridge illuminating the sky above you, and next to you Harry presses himself closer to you.

“I just realised, we never even ate dinner.” Harry laughs, tightening his arm around your shoulders and you snuggle further into the warmth he’s allowed you, your arm wrapped around his waist inside of his leather jacket.

“Well, I have a good takeout menu and a bottle of wine in my apartment, if that takes your fancy.” You propose, walking ahead of him, dragging him after you with an outstretched hand. You take a step backwards and he keeps walking, crowding up again you, hands wrapped around your upper arms.

“Mmm, depends on how good the takeout is.” He murmurs, leaning in closer. “Hi.”

“Hey yourself.”

“Tonight’s been nice.”

“Yeah.” You murmur. “It’s been nice, getting to know you. Actually being able to have a conversation with you. Utterly destroying you at Time Crisis 2, that sort of thing.”

“In fairness, I have never played that game before, and I still won pinball.”

“and you still bought the next round anyway, because you’re a sucker.”

“I’m charming.” He grins. “There’s a difference.”

You throw your head back and laugh, your breath clouding in front of you, as you step away from him.

“I’m sure there is.”

“Well you obviously thought I was charming enough to agree to come on a date with me.”

“I think it’s more to do with the fact you’re not New York enough for me to be depressed at the mere idea of having dinner with you.”

“Not New York enough?” He questions, before tilting his head for emphasis. “Besides, you didn’t  _actually_  let me take you to dinner.”

“Yeah. You just straight up admitted you’d look at me, because you thought I was pretty. You got my number-which seriously Harry. That is so illegal, even if you didn’t technically do it yourself. But, yeah. You got my number to actually talk to me. You actually replied to my texts too?” You laugh, leaning back against the railing. “I haven’t had that since I moved to this city.”

“I feel like that’s a really low standard to be impressed by.” He chuckles, stepping towards you and sliding his arms around your waist.

You let out a non-committal hum, pushing his fringe out of his eyes.

“Maybe that’s why this date has gone so well.” You tease softly. “Low standards.”

His face falls, and you instantly remember the hushed whispers around the offices about the Osborn family, of Harry Osborn the son who was pushed away far too young.

He makes to step back, and you clutch at the lapel of his jacket, keeping him close.

“Hey.” You whisper. “Bad joke. Sorry.”

You nuzzle your nose against his, and his hand cups your face, and then he’s kissing you insistently. The added height from your boots means you’re at the perfect height, and he tilts your chin for a better angle and the kiss moves suddenly from soft and slow, to open mouthed and an outpouring of affection. Your hands slide up from his lapels, one arm hooking around his neck and the other stroking a thumb over his jawline softly. He smiles into the kiss, and you can’t help but smile back, feeling like a teenager where he’s pressed up heavily against you, the soothing sound of water behind you. But your faux leather jacket and lack of gloves isn’t suited to the later months in New York at the best of times, never mind when you’re next to the water and pressed against metal. The railing is suddenly so cold against your back it stings and you pull away from the kiss suddenly, gasping at the sensation.

“It’s getting cold.” You murmur, and he tilts your chin up to look you in the eyes, confusion written all over his face. “You should probably bring the car around.”

The corners of his mouth twitch downwards and he nods sharply, stepping backwards.

You roll your eyes impatiently at just how  _dense_  he is as you grab at his hands and reel him back in. He’s turned his head slightly in misguided embarrassment and you end up pressing a kiss to the side of his nose.

“Idiot.” You smile, skimming a thumb over his cheekbone, before kissing him properly. “I literally just meant that it’s cold as fuck, and we’ve been outside for at least 45 minutes and also, this metal railing is absolutely freezing on my back.”

“Oh! Shit, sorry.” He laughs, pulling you away from the barrier and he fumbles to take his phone out of his jacket pocket.

He turns you back around the way you walked from as he opens up his texts. He goes to type something and then stops, and looks around unsurely.

“East river promenade, near the baseball fields.” You murmur, and he smiles appreciatively, before typing out your exact words and hitting send.

“The car should be on the road by the time we get there.”

“That’s scarily efficient, and I think I love it.”

“I also told Henry to turn the heating on.”

“No, wait, I just decided. I definitely love it.”

* * *

 

You’re pressed up close in the back seat of the car. Harry has an arm slung around your shoulder and your hand is resting casually on his thigh.

The car pulls up outside of your complex and he turns to you, pressing a firm kiss to your cheek.

“So, are we going to do this agai-what?” He trails off when you hold up your palm, cutting him off.

“Takeout and wine, remember? You still have to buy me dinner, genius.” Your smirk fades into a frown. “Unless you don’t wa-“

“No! No. Yeah. Takeout sounds great.”

“C’mon then.” You murmur, grabbing at his hand as you open the car door.

You both clamber out of the back seat and it feels even colder outside now that you’re used to the heat of the car, and you huddle into Harry’s personal space.

“See you around, Henry!” You call out quickly before Harry slams the door.

You tug him gently up the steps, swiping your way into the building.

It takes you all the way until the elevator before you realise what’s wrong with the picture.

“Hang on a minute.” You frown, and he gives you a puzzled look. “How the hell did you get in the building earlier tonight?”

He bursts out laughing, and it echoes slightly in the foyer as you step into the elevator.

“A guy was coming out of that,” He nods towards the door of one of the ground floor apartments. “Apartment. He spotted me and seemed a bit starstruck and let me in without me even asking.”

You lean back on the handrail, throwing your head back against the wall with a groan.

“Great.” You sigh.

Harry merely laughs again before stepping towards you, hands either side of you on the rail, and pressing open mouthed kisses to your bared throat.

You push him away with a gentle slap to the shoulder.

“You’re not giving me hickies when you’ve barely even kissed me properly, you asshole.”

“Would you like me to kiss you properly?” He says quietly, nudging his nose against yours.

“You waiting for a written invitation?”

He’s smiling when he presses his lips against yours, and then he’s kissing you open mouthed and eager with a hand sliding into your hair. You get lost in it, the closeness of him and the smell of his cologne. The elevator doors open behind him on your floor, but he takes no notice.

“Harry,” You try to mumble between kisses. “This is my floor.”

The doors slide closed again, but the elevator stays where it is. You tug as the back of his hair gently, following him with small chaste kisses, until he gets the idea.

“This is our floor.” You repeat, pressing the open door button.

“Well why didn’t you say so?”

You roll your eyes, shoving playfully at his chest as you walk past him and down the corridor to the door of your apartment. You’re rummaging around in your handbag when he catches up, sliding an arm around your waist and kissing your neck.

“I’m not quite sure how you expect me to find my keys if you keep that up.” You murmur, and he stops to look at you.

“Keep what up?” Harry replies, a smirk on his face.

“Distracting me! And looking at me like you want to eat me.”

“There was a word missing from the end of that last sentence, but you were close enough.”

Your hands still in their search, and his snigger is beyond self-satisfied.

Your keys jangle in your hand as you pull them from your bag, and you turn around to brandish them in mock threat in his face, but Harry’s uses his arm to twist you both around and the next thing you know your back is flat against the wood of the door and every inch of Harry is pressed up against you. His hand is cradling the back of your head as he kisses you fiercely and you whimper into his mouth.

He groans softly, as you fumble with the key in your hand. He peeks one eye open, laughing against your mouth when he sees you’re doing the same. He grabs your hand in his, guiding the key towards the lock as he presses kisses to your face. You turn the key together and you let out yelp as the door gives underneath you.

Harry uses the arm around your waist to spin you both around, and manages to stop you both from falling.

“Nice catch.”

“Yes, you are.” He grins.

You roll your eyes, leaning a hand on his shoulder as you wobble on one leg to unfasten your boots one at a time.

He places a hand on your hip to steady you, and you kick the offending items into the corner. You throw your bag down and pull your jacket off, throwing it towards your coat rack and missing.

You lean up on your tiptoes to press your lips to his, grabbing his hand and making your way to your bedroom.

“Is this what we’re going with? Because I can absolutely go with this.” He all but babbles as you tug him into the room, pushing him down gently onto the bed.

“You knew this was what we were going with as soon as you stood behind me at the pinball machine.” You murmur, climbing into his lap.

He grins at that, sliding a hand down to your ass and dragging you closer.

“I knew this was what we were going with as soon as I realised you definitely knew how to play pinball.”

You push his jacket off of his shoulders as he kisses you and unbuttons the front of your blouse. When he slides a hand inside and touches your bare skin, you can’t help but yelp and nearly fall backwards off his lap.

“Jesus!” You gasp, laughing and you scrabble at his shoulders to pull yourself back towards him.

You grab at his hands, rubbing them between your own and blowing warm air on them with a fond smile.

“Cold hands.” You murmur. “Wasn’t expecting it.”

You shush him as he apologises and you let his hands drop back down into your lap.  You turn your attention to pushing his t-shirt up until he gets the message and tugs it over his head as you mimic his action.

He leans forward to kiss you again and then stops suddenly, a worried look on his face.

“Wait.” He murmurs. “Are you on anything-“

“Oh. Yeah! I’m good.” You murmur, climbing off of him and further up the bed to dig about in your bedside cabinet. “There’s condoms in here too.”

You bend over further to look in the bottom drawer, and Harry takes a sharp inhale of breath.

You look over your shoulder at him to see his eyes glued to where the denim of your skinny jeans is stretched tight across your ass as he unbuckles his belt. You wiggle your butt playfully, before turning back to your search with a smirk on your face.

The smack to your ass 2 seconds later can be summed up as 50% unexplainable male urges, 50% playful foreplay and 100% Harry Osborn.

When you roll back over, he’s already down to his underwear when you push the condom into his hand as you fumble with the buttons of your own jeans, wiggling out of them, kicking them off of the bed.

He’s on top of you in an instant, crushing his lips against yours and it’s all fumbling hands and breathy gasps that remind you that at the end of the day you’re both still young, and he’s no different to any of the other boys you’ve been on dates with, apart from the surprising fact he seems to be one of the decent ones.

He drags your underwear down your legs, throwing it off to the side to join his own, and you’re surprised when he makes good on his earlier promise when he licks a stripe from your hole to your clit. He knows exactly what he’s doing as he hooks one leg over his shoulder, holding your other thigh open with his hand splayed open, with a grip so tight you won’t be surprised if his fingerprints are bruised into your inner thighs for the next week.

Your fingers tangle in his hair and you gasp out his name as he slides two fingers inside of you.

“Jesus,” He gasps quietly. “You’re so wet already.”

Then he’s leaning back down to lick at you, and your reply comes out as a choked off whine. He curls his fingers inside of you and licks at you around where the digits are buried deep, and the smug self-satisfaction radiates off of him with every sound you make.

You scrabble at his shoulder desperately, trying to drag him up the bed, and he eventually gets the message, wiping at his mouth before kissing his way from your mouth to your throat.

You’ll bicker for days about who makes the loudest noise when he finally sinks inside of you.

His hands are gentle on your hips as he gives you a moment to adjust, but then he’s leaning back on top of you and the speed and firmness of his thrusts are anything but.

He fucks into you hard rather than fast, and it’s just what you need as he pushes himself inside of you in deep strokes. He pushes your hair back out of your face, an arm curled around your head as he kisses you and the contrast between his gentle kisses and the almost punishing pace he fucks you with is enough to make your head spin.

His physique is completely deceiving so you’re not expecting it when he turns out to be all lean toned muscles and a slim waist when you undress him, and you’re certainly not expecting it when his rhythm doesn’t falter once and it has you twisting one hand in the bedsheets and one in his hair as he presses himself as deep as he can inside of you. He kisses his way down your cleavage and you arch up towards his mouth, and he has the audacity to smirk at you as he scrapes his teeth gently on the underside of your breast.

He hitches your legs higher on his hip and the new angle is just what you need. He slides a hand down between you both to fumble with your clit and the whimper you let out makes him groan low and deep in his chest, and you bite down on his shoulder.

He moans loudly when you tighten around his cock as you come, and in your post-orgasm haze you can’t stop the ridiculous sense of smugness because  _holy shit you just made a multi-billionaire moan._

Your fingers scrabble at his shoulders as he picks up the pace, and you tug at his hair gently, kissing him open mouthed in an attempt to muffle the sounds you’re making. You clench around his cock and the look he gives you is indescribable, and you can physically feel the tension inside of him snap as he comes, panting heavily into the crook of your neck.

You lay there for a moment, stroking your fingers through his hair absently as you wait for him to get his breath back. He presses a kiss to the crook of your neck, kissing his way up your throat. His lips are lazily pressed against your cheek for what feels like an age, before he nips gently at your bottom lip, flicking his tongue against yours when you open your mouth for him.

“So, how are my chances for a second date looking?” He murmurs against your lips.

You can’t help but snort out a laugh, slapping at his chest as he grins against your cheek. He pulls out, climbing off of the bed to dispose of the condom as you lean over off of the bed and pull your underwear back on

You roll over next to him when climbs back onto the bed, leaning up to kiss him, pressing your chest against his. You lean over further and he watches in amusement as you grab a Chinese menu from the drawer, before rolling away from him completely and throwing it at him.

“Guess my order right and we’ll talk about a second date.”


	9. “Shouldn't you get that? What if it's important?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUTTYSMUTSMUTSMUTSMUT

It’s early on Sunday when the phone rings.

Harry works hard, despite what the media likes to spin, but the one thing he’s always stood by is that Sundays are his. He’ll unhappily take a call on a Saturday occasionally, but unless it’s life and death (or imminent bankruptcy) no one is to call him on a Sunday.

You’re moving on top of him lazily, head thrown back and back arched as he groans underneath you, watching you move with sleepy but lust filled eyes.

Then his phone rings.

It breaks you out of your rhythm for a moment as you both stare at the device in confusion. It’s you who spurs into action first.

“Shouldn't you get that?” You gasp, dropping down on top of him to kiss him. “What if it's important? They never call on Sundays.”

“Nothing can be more important than this.” He groans, looking back at you, fingers tightening on your hips.

“What if it’s the call we’ve been-ah!” You grip your fingers into his shoulders as he thrusts upwards roughly. “Been waiting for, from Stark.”

“I think of all people, Tony Stark will understand if this is the reason I can’t come to the phone.”

“We’ve been waiting for this for weeks, Harry.”

“I’ve been waiting for  _this_  for hours, waiting for you to wake up.” He retorts.

“All you’ve been talking about is how much profit the distribution of the smart desks is gonna bring in. It’s Sunday, you know that’s Stark Industries. Babe, please.” You whine out the last word as you drop back down onto his cock.

“I’m not talking about that now.”

“Bruce Banner and Tony Stark want to use the smart desk  _I_ invented, answer the phone.”

He ignores you, mouthing over your breasts, a hand sliding up into your hair.

“Answer the fucking phone, Harry. Or I’m going to stop.”

His movements still at that, and he shoots you a bemused look.

“Did you get that sentence mixed up?” He asks, breaking off into a gasp as you roll your hips.

“No. Answer the phone, I'll keep fucking you.”

“ _What?”_

The phone rings off before you can reply and he breathes out a sigh of relief.

“It’s too early for you to be feeling this kinky.” He huffs, sliding a hand up your waist, helping guide your movements on top of him.

“If that phone rings again, you’re answering it. I’m happy to stay here if you want me to, and if you really don’t, then I’ll go get a shower and you can join me when you’re one. But  _please_  answer that call, Harry.”

He slows his movements at that, and he pulls you closer, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“You sure?”

“If I wasn’t, I would have just gotten off of you earlier and made you answer the phone, genius. You know Stark, he’s not going to buy them without speaking to you personally.”

He hums in agreement, and grips at your ass, spreading you open wider and helping him rock back onto his cock. You gasp in to his mouth at the new sensation, your hair falling over both of your faces.

Then the phone rings again.

Your head snaps up and his to the side to watch it buzz harshly on the wood of the bedside cabinet.

You’re pushing yourself back off of him immediately, groaning as he sinks into you deeper at this angle

He fumbles blindly for the phone, and grabs it without looking. He looks at the screen, then back at you.

“You have to keep quiet. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He hits the answer call button and guides the device to his ear, and your breath catches in your throat.

“This is Harry.”

He rolls his eyes at the response before saying “No, its fine. Now works.”

You bite your lip to hide your grin and he shoots you a glare, thrusting roughly up into you, making you gasp, and spurring back into movement.

“Yes!” He exclaims, and you hide a laugh behind your hands, making him pinch at your hip. “The desk was invented by one of my employees. I have the first finished model in my office. It’s a truly brilliant device, straight from the mind of a truly brilliant person.” His eyes soften as he looks up at you. “It has limitless upgrade capabilities, so it’ll never be phased out tech either.”

You grin at him, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the side of his nose, making him scrunch his face up in amusement.

“Yes. Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I’m a bit out of breath, I’m on the treadmill right now. Sunday’s are my recreation days, you see.” He stares up at you with a raised eyebrow, biting at his lip you lean back on your hand behind you.

He shoots another glare at you, and you realise you’ve stopped moving. You begin to rise up onto your knees again, but Harry doesn’t give you a chance. He clamps a hand over your mouth and flips you both over and your loud moan is muffled as you stare at him wide eyed.

“Yes, I agree completely.” He says, hooking your leg over his shoulder and pressing your thigh back towards your chest. “Yes, I think that arrangement works quite well for us.”

 

You open your mouth behind his hand, biting at his fingers teasingly as he thrusts into you hard. He stares at you in an absolutely filthy manner as you grab at his hand with your own. You lock your eyes with his as you seal your lips around his finger, sucking it into your mouth. His lips part and his hips jerk against yours as you swirl your tongue around the digit and you smirk inwardly as you think of all the other things you’re going to have the time to do today.

 

“Yeah, yeah, definitely.” Harry replies to the person on the other end of the phone, fumbling slightly to keep the device at his ear. “I feel like this collaboration will be an incredibly  _pleasurable_ -“ He punctuates the word with a particularly rough thrust, making you shift further up the bed with a choked off moan. “-experience for the both of us. Our companies, I mean.”

 

“Wrap your hands around my throat.” You gasp softly, and his eyes widen. You kiss at his fingers reassuringly and nod. “Want your fingers round my throat.”

 

He fumbles with the phone again as you slide his hand down over your throat, your hand covering his and squeezing reassuringly. He presses down on your neck tentatively and you scrabble at his shoulders, biting down on your lip to keep quiet.

“So that was uh, four desks you were interested in?” Harry huffs, his thrusts tailing off as he concentrates on the call. “Yourself, Ms Potts, Banner and, Mr uh-was it Mr Wilson?”

 

You squeeze your thighs around his hips, and he regains his rhythm, sinking into you hard and fast. You hand flutters uncertainly at the side of his face but he leans into the touch, leaning further over you.

The change in angle makes you gasp loudly, and as a reflex Harry clenches his fingers cutting off your air for just a split second.

It surprises you more than it surprises Harry when you come, whining softly with his hand on your throat and Tony Stark’s voice in your boyfriend’s ear.

“Five? You want five? Yeah, that sounds  _great-“_ His voice is strained as you clench tight around his cock.  “We can totally do five. Listen, sorry. Someo-thing! Something just came up, so I’m gonna have to go. I’ll have my assistant email over all the details and the production plan, and we can talk more in the week if you have any issues. Yeah? Great. Bye.”

He jabs his finger on the end call button 4 times in quick succession, then another 7 just to make sure the call truly isn’t connected anymore.

“Oh my fucking  _god_.” He chokes out, dropping the phone on the pillow next to you and kissing you fiercely.

“Yeah.” You gasp in agreement, wiggling your toes in satisfaction as he moves inside of you hard and fast, just teetering on the right side of oversensitivity. “Today was suppo-oh! Supposed to be my turn on top.” You pout at him in an over exaggerated manner.

He rolls his eyes as you, nipping at your bottom lip. “I think you’ve had your fair share of getting what you want this morning.”

You hum in agreement, splaying your fingers wide across his shoulders.

“C’mon, hotshot.” You croon to him softly. “You nearly there? Gonna come for your truly brilliant girlfriend?”

His rhythm falters and he groans into the crook of your neck.

“Never gonna let me live that one down, are you?”

“Nope.”

“You’re a complicated lady.”

“Thought you didn’t do complicated? You tell me that at least once a fortnight.”

“Turns out I’ve been  _doing_  complicated the entire time.” He bites back.

“Less snark, more fucking.” You whine, digging your heel into his back.

He seals his mouth against yours, open mouthed and slightly off centre. You let him take what he needs, still loose limbed from your orgasm.

You tug at his hair a little less than gentle to correct the kiss and he stills against you suddenly with a drawn out groan.

You freeze with your lips pressed against the side of his face for a moment, and then you burst out laughing.

“Hair pulling, Harry?  _Really?”_

He groans in embarrassment, rolling off of you, covering his eyes with his forearm.

“You were asking me to put my fingers round your throat five minutes ago, fuck off.”

You pull at his arm until he raises it, burrowing underneath it to lean your chin against his chest.

“Good morning.”

“Yes, it is.”

You’re both silent for a minute as Harry tries to get his breath back, stroking his hand absently through your hair.

“He knew, didn’t he?” You laugh, when you can’t hide your giggles any longer.

“He’s Tony Stark, of course he knew. As soon as I said treadmill, he absolutely knew.”

“Still bought the desks.”

“He still bought the desks.”

“The Avengers are going to be using my inventions.”

Harry sits up onto his elbows at that, pressing a kiss to the underside of your jaw.

“As they should be.”

You can’t help but preen at the comment, rolling over, and burrowing back underneath the covers with a content sigh.

“You not wanting breakfast?” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade.

“I’ve achieved everything I’ve wanted to for the day.” You smile into your pillow. “I’m going back to sleep.”


	10. Up Against The Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one also has a companion piece in the form of "Eavesdropping." over at my Pietro Maximoff x reader speedster!verse, for those who are interested. :)

So you do both. Laughing softly and pressing a kiss to his nose as he grumbles unhappily.

“Oh, shut up.” You scold. “I wasn’t even going to go anyway, so it’s not like it matters if I was invited or your plus one.”

“Oh, come  _on._ ” He groans around his mouthful of kung pao chicken. “It’ll be fun! Please don’t make me go on my own.”

“If you don’t wanna go, just don’t go, idiot.”

“I can’t  _not_  go.” He retorts. “Stark and Osborn have always been the biggest names in this city, at the very least in terms of actual size on our buildings. I literally can’t not go, it looks bad.”

You frown at him.

“What’s in it for me, if I did go?”

“A very swanky date night?” He offers with a shrug. “and I’ll give you my black card, you can go wild on 5th ave for a new outfit.”

“Are you  _bribing_  me?” You laugh, jabbing him in the side with a chopstick.

“Is it working?”

You purse your lips at him, narrowing your eyes and he grins at you.

“Knew it.”

“Oh, shut up.” You grumble, picking up a king prawn with your chopsticks and dropping it into Harry’s container of food, earning yourself a beaming smile.

You eat in silence for a while, Netflix winding down the closing credits of the terrible thriller movie you’ve just finished.

He dumps his empty food container on the coffee table, putting yours with it when you hold it out towards him expectantly.

He sits back on the sofa, head rested in your cross legged lap, his feet dangling off of the end of the sofa.

“Why don’t you want to go anyway?” He frowns up at you. “It’s a really big deal.”

“I know it is. But I don’t really have a reason to go? I don’t have to beg for funding from anyone, I work for Oscorp. You give me everything that I need, so it’s not like I need to go and press the flesh.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t come with me, and have some fun.” He grins.

You don’t respond, instead turning your attention to aimlessly fiddling with a button on his shirt.

“I heard Jane Foster is probably going to be there?” He offers, and your hand stills on his chest, as you look down at him with wide eyes.

He trails off quietly, folding his lips together in amusement. “Should I have opened with that?”

“Absolutely should have opened with that, Harry.”

* * *

 

Harry sweeps off to the bar with a kiss on your cheek and a gentle squeeze of your hip. You hover uncertainly in the middle of the room before spotting an empty free standing table. You dump your handbag on top of it, and scan the room for familiar faces. Jane Foster isn’t here tonight, and you’ve already clipped Harry around the ear for getting your hopes up. However, the sheer amount of knowledge and innovation that’s currently milling around the room, sipping on extremely expensive spirits is astounding. You think absently that if anything were to happen tonight, the entire STEM world would be set back at least 50 years.

On the flip side, there’s also a fair amount of faces that you don’t know. You recognise Sam Wilson sprawled out on a chaise chair dramatically, chatting animatedly to a woman in a black and gold dress. She’s laughing loudly, a glass of whiskey in her hand, and next to her on the sofa is a man with silver hair, his arm slung around her shoulders. How comfortable the two strangers look in the room is what makes you realise that these people must live here, which then immediately makes you realise you’re staring at three of the avengers, and you probably look like an idiotic fan. You make a mental note to do some sort of research on the heroes who reside in this building when you get home.

Movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention, and you watch as Tony Stark skips down the three glass stairs to where the sofas are. He walks past the three of them, flicking the silver haired man on the ear, making him flinch away and causing the woman to swat at Stark as jogs up the stairs on the other side to join the woman waiting for him. (and holy shit, that’s  _Pepper Potts.)_

You turn your attention back to the couple, and Sam and the woman are laughing as Silver Hair rubs at his ear, a scowl on his face. His companion leans forwards, pressing a kiss to his ear, then to his cheek and affection colours his face. It’s his facial expression that makes you think of Harry, and you turn around to see where he’s up to with the drinks.

You spot him at the bar, and you give him a small wave, he smiles and raises his hand to wave back when two men step in front of you, drawing your attention away from Harry, and you miss the way his face falls.

You stare at them for a couple of seconds, trying to place their faces, because you know you recognise them, you’re just not sure where from.

“Well!” One of them announces loudly, causing the couple behind him to turn around and frown. “If it isn’t Oscorp’s shining star!”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, you figure out exactly who he is, and something uncomfortable settles low in the pit of your stomach. Both of them are the two other members of TIME magazine’s favourite under 25 Fortune 500 CEO’s, a trio completed by Harry. Both of them are also giant assholes.

“Yep, that’s me.” You raise your hand vaguely in an unenthusiastic greeting.

He steps closer, and his friend follows, crowding you in, and you slyly attempt to rise up on your tiptoes, hoping to catch Harry’s eye, but to no avail.

“So, what idea are you needing funding for that means you’ve gotten all dolled up tonight?”

“Oh no!” You laugh politely, holding your hands up. “I’m not here on business or anything like that. Besides, I have all the funding I’ll ever need.”

“Oh?” He purses his lips at you, looking you up and down. “So why are you here?”

“That.” Harry’s arm winds around your waist as he slides in from nowhere. He presses a glass of wine into your hand at the same time he presses a kiss to your cheek, before turning to the men. “Would be date night.”

They both take a visible step backwards, and it reminds you of dogs raising their hackles.

“Oh. So  _that’s_ why you’re here.” He sneers at you, before turning to Harry. “Make a habit of dating your employees, Osborn?”

“Depends on what you mean by habit, gentleman.” He frowns at them.

“Anything more than once, I’d say. The papers had a lot to say about that pretty little assistant of yours.” You and Harry both roll your eyes simultaneously, shooting each other an exasperated glance.

“This one’s prettier though.” The taller man steps forward this time, looking you up and down like you’re a piece of meat.

“Well.” You simper. “By that definition, I’ve made a terrible ‘habit’ of rejecting job offers from your company. The cut in pay wasn’t worth it, not with your complete lack of gross profit in the last two years, that’s another habit, am I right? As well as your declining stock prices? Both terrible habits to have, gentleman.”

His jaw clenches and his face darkens as you smile back sweetly, Harry hiding his laughter behind a cough.

“C’mon, hotshot.” You raise your voice slightly, hooking your arm through Harry’s. “Let’s go somewhere quieter and less likely of imminent bankruptcy.”

The people around you snigger, and you can’t help the swell of pride in your chest at just how quickly you managed to turn the tables on them.

Harry leans in close to your ear as you cross the room, walking towards the windows.

“I love you. I am literally so in love with you. If I had a position to promote you to, I would do it immediately.” He’s laughing openly now, nudging his nose against your ear. “I literally want to drop to my knees and kiss the ground you walk on, because that was  _brutal._ ”

“ _That_.” You laugh. “was fun. And liberating. Those fucking perverts. The amount of times they’ve tried to grab my fucking ass at these goddamn parties.”

“I remember when I used to think you were flirting back with them.”

“My cleavage was the only thing that stopped you getting punched in the face that night, I mean honestly, Harry.” You scold him. “I don’t even know if you’re fuelled by jealousy or ego most of the time.”

You reach the corner of the room, and the floor to ceiling windows provide a stunning view of the city below.

You touch your fingertips against the glass of the window and look down. “Never knew how much of the city you could see from all the way up here.” You murmur quietly.

“Yeah.” Harry replies, hooking his chin over your shoulder and looking east towards the Oscorp building. “Mine’s bigger though.”

You snort out a laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth as you erupt into a fit of giggles.

Harry looks on in amusement as you cackle behind your hand.

“That was so bad, I feel terrible about myself for even laughing.” You manage to choke off, and he huffs unhappily.

“I like this dress, by the way.” He whispers. “I’ll have to give you my card more often.”

“I wouldn’t argue with that.” You laugh, before dropping your voice to a whisper. “Besides, you haven’t even seen what I have on underneath the dress yet.”

His grip on your hips tightens and he makes an intrigued sound.

His hand slides low on your belly, the other stroking absently at the bare skin on the side of your thigh the slit offers.

It’s quiet for a moment, and you bask in the gentle sounds of the party around you, and the street below.

He leans forward slightly, and then his breath is warm on your ear, making you shiver.

“I wanna fuck you hard.” He croons quietly, nipping at your earlobe. “Right up against the window.”

He feels more than hears your sharp inhale of breath before you murmur “You’ve had too much to drink, darling.”

“True.” He replies, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Doesn’t mean I don’t mean what I said.”

“I know you meant it, I’m just saying why we can’t go home immediately and do it.”

“I saw the way everyone here has been looking at you. All night, those fucks from earlier too. I wouldn’t want to go home, I’d wanna do it right here, where everyone could see us.”

You clamp your hand over his as he presses himself closer to your back. To anyone else, you look like any of the other couples here, admiring the lights of the city, when it’s the furthest thing from the truth.

You go quiet for a moment, and just when Harry starts to worry he’s pushing it too far, and tipped you far over the edge of your comfort zone, you’re spinning around in his arms. Your hand is firm on the back of his neck, the other pressed close against his heart as you lean up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“How would you want me?” You tease, grazing your lips against his throat as you pull back. “Describe it to me.”

“ _Jesus_.” Harry groans under his breath, cupping your face and pressing his lips to yours. The perfect picture of innocent affection, he slides one arm around your waist, tugging you into the corner, and you’re staring directly at the Oscorp tower now, and there’s a gleam in his eye.

“Can you see it from here?” My office?” He murmurs in your ear, glancing over your shoulder to make sure nobody is close enough to hear. “I’d send Felicia for a long lunch. I’d bend you over the desk first, your prized creation. My beautiful clever lady, all spread out on the very thing that got me to notice you in the first plac-”

“Thought you told me it was my very short skirt.” You cut him off with a smirk.

“Do you want me to stop talking?” He grits out.

“Didn’t say that.” You breathe out, pressing a kiss to the curve of his jaw.  

His face is stoic as he looks out across the city, and his expression is completely unreadable.

“I’d push you up against the window. Have you spread your legs, and arch your back for me.” He murmurs, arms tightening around your waist. “You’d look so pretty. Sound even prettier when you beg me to fuck you where anyone could see us.”

“Home.” You say suddenly. “I want you to take me home now.”

Harry turns his back to the city, and folds his arms smirking at you.

“You sure? Don’t want another drink first?”

You step forwards back into his personal space, and his smiles fades at the look on your face.

“I was lying earlier.” You say, straightening his tie, beaming at him when he frowns slightly. “I’m not wearing  _anything_  underneath this dress.”

He’s leading you through the crowd back to the elevator before you can even let out a laugh.

“Home. Home it is.”


	11. “No, don't just say you're fine. Where's the doctor? Let me go speak to the doctor.”

There’s a small knock on the window of his office and somebody calls his name softly. Harry looks up to see Felicia stood hesitantly in the doorway, a frown on her face.

“You finally starting to use my name instead of Mr Osborn?” He smirks at her, going back to typing out an email.

“It seems appropriate, given the situation.” She replies, clasping her hands in front of her.

“What situation?”

“There’s been an accident in the labs, during testing.” She explains, walking further into the room. “I figured you’d want to be notified, given the circumstances.”

“Circumstances? Anyone injured?”

“Yes, it’s not too serious, just a hand injury. It’s who was injured.”

His hands still on the desk and he looks up at her.

“The medics are already with her, so there’s nothi-“ She trails off as Harry pushes back from his desk, grabbing his phone and power walking past her to the elevator. “Or we could. We could go downstairs. That works too.”

-

You’re sat at Amelia’s station cradling your hand to your chest. It was stupid really, the calibration for the testing machine had been off. You were lucky all things considered. The tension wire had snapped and hit against your hand, slicing into it. You’d heard the crack and hadn’t even had time to spin away, expecting the cable to hit out against your face, and you can’t help but feel relieved that you’re sat here with only two broken fingers and a heavily bleeding gash on the back of your hand.

Amelia is stood next to you, filling out the accident report on your behalf when she tenses suddenly whispering a quiet “oh no.”

You frown at her, before spinning your chair around to follow her gaze. You feel your back stiffen when you see Harry rushing out of the elevator and through the doors of the lab.

“Mr Osborn!” Your boss calls, stepping towards him. “It’s all under control here, I’m not sure who distur-“

He’s cut off as Harry pushes past him, rushing towards you and Amelia.

“Mr Osborn.” You hold out your good hand towards him in hopes of placating him. “The equipment is completely undamaged. It’s fine.”

He looks at you incredulously, grabbing at a nearby chair, rolling himself close to you.

“I don’t care about the equipment.” He murmurs, taking your hand in his.

“Harry..” You whisper warningly, acutely aware of the surprised glances of your co-workers.

“I don’t care about them either.” He replies. “I’ve told you this.”

You bite your lip, and he leans forward, pressing an off centre kiss to your mouth.

“Okay.” You exhale, shifting back in your chair. “I’m fine though, the blood is nothing.”

“You’re bleeding through the damn bandage! No, don't just say you're fine.” He mutters, cradling your hand in his, looking around the room. “Where's the doctor? Let me go speak to the doctor.”

“The medic has already looked me over, I’m honestly totally fine. A couple of broken fingers and I’ll need a few stitches, that’s all.”

“How on earth is that fine?!”

“Considering what could have happened, it’s nothing!” You reassure him. “I got off lucky, all things considered!”

“I’m going to fire whoever calibrated that damn machine.” He hisses.

“I’d rather you didn’t.” You laugh. “It was me, I calibrated it, and it was my mistake.”

The clacking of heels on tile draws your attention and you look up to see Felicia stood there, looking at you sympathetically as she walks over to you.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine Felish.” You smile softly. “I’ll live to see another day, don’t worry.”

“Do you want me to bring the car around to take you home?”

“Oh no.” You wave her off not unkindly. “It’s fine.”

“Hey.” Amelia pipes up, bumping her hip against your arm. “Go home, you damn idiot. You’re not exactly any use here, don’t be so proud.”

“Amelia is right.” Harry states, standing up. “You need to get that hand stitched, and then we’re going home

“I can’t really affor-“ You trail off at the look on Harry’s face, folding your lips together in embarrassment. “Okay.”

Harry walks over to your desk, slinging your bag over his shoulder, and fishing your phone and charger out of the top drawer.

“Felicia, bring the car around, and give Dr Arnold a call, tell him to expect us within the hour.”

She nods once, taking out her phone, squeezing at your shoulder affectionately before stepping out into the corridor.

He guides you out of the chair by the elbow, an arm wrapped firmly around your waist.

“I’ve broken my fingers, Harry.” You scold, but lean into the touch regardless. “Not my legs.”

You’re acutely aware of the eyes on you both as he guides you through the lobby, and the weight of their gaze is almost enough to distract you from the throbbing of your hand in its makeshift splint. The car is already outside when you step out onto the street, and for once you’re too distracted to be impressed by Henry’s efficiency.

“Y’know, this isn’t something you can come back from.” You murmur once you’re inside the car, resting your head on his shoulder. “Everyone here knows, then they’re going to tweet about it. There’s probably going to be a buzzfeed article and everything by the end of the day.”

He presses his face into your hair and chuckles as the car pulls away from the curb.

“You worry about buzzfeed, I’ll worry about you.”


	12. Razor Sharp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consider this an au of the rest of the verse, because I honestly just couldn't get the idea out of my head, ha!

You’re pressed flush against Harry’s side in the cramped booth at the bar, grinning widely at Gwen and Peter who are sat across from you.

Gwen has just finished regaling you all with her story about her issues with the computer systems at work, pointing an accusing finger at Harry who holds his hands up in surrender with a laugh.

“Hey, don’t ask me, I just run the place.”

“You jus-. You’re so full of shit, Harry.” Peter laughs, his arm slung over the seat behind Gwen.

“Yes.” Harry states, downing the dregs of his drink and pointing at Peter seriously. “But I have a good jawline, so I get away with pretty much everything.”

You laugh loudly, grabbing at his chin with your hand, tilting his head to the side as he huffs in amusement.

“Yep. Sharp as a razor, it’s official. Rich asshole status has been achieved.”

He bats you away as you tap as his cheek a little less than lightly. You shove back at him and he rolls his eyes, fumbling in his pocket.

“Hey, I’m going for a smoke, anyone wanna join me?”

Gwen and Peter both wave him off, Peter’s arm dropping onto Gwen’s shoulder as she leans into the touch.

“I’ll come outside with you, it’s warm as hell in here.” You reply, swigging the last of your drink and shuffling him out of the booth before throwing a five down onto the table. “If either of you go to the bar, grab me another, will you?”

They both nod at you, but you know that neither of them have any intention of moving.

Harry guides you through the crowd, hands hovering near your hips as people catch sight of his face and part like the red sea. You reach behind yourself to make sure you don’t lose him, and he slips a hand into yours.

You reach the door and the cool air outside is an instant refreshment as you tug him out into the smoking area at the back of the bar.

“Jeez. Didn’t realise how warm it was in there.” He laughs, holding the door open for the person re-entering the bar.

“God, I know right?” You reply with a huff, jumping up to sit on the table by the window. “I thought you quit smoking anyway?”

“I did.” He laughs. “However the ferocity with which Peter was kicking me under the table makes me think we were no longer wanted. At least for a little while.”

“You probably should have grabbed your jacket, by the way.” He snickers, his eyes fixed on the inside of the bar.

“Huh, why wou-oh.” You trail off when you twist around to follow his gaze. The only thing currently visible of your drinking partners being the back of Peter’s head as he presses his lips to Gwen’s.

“At least I know why he was attempting to sacrifice my shin bone now.” Harry laughs.

“They’re happy to make out in a crowded bar in front of tons of people, but not in front of us?

Harry shrugs, stepping closer to you, your knees bumping into his legs. “Peter has always been an oddball like that, I guess.”

“Suddenly kinda wish you still smoked.” You laugh, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “I think I wouldn’t feel like this much of a peeping tom if I had something else to do at the same time.”

Harry hums noncommittally, digging his hands into his coat pockets and nudging his knee against your dangling legs.

“Thought you hated it when I smoked, you said I stank all the time.”

“You did. You still do. Just now the smoke doesn’t overpower the stench of smugness and expensive cologne.”

Harry rolls his eyes, kicking at your dangling feet.

“Stop sniffing me, you creep.”

“I was about to follow that up with a compliment!” You laugh, shoving at his shoulder. “But you can forget it now.”

He turns his attention back to the inside of the bar, scrunching his nose in amusement when you both see Peter and Gwen have yet to come up for air.

“Y’know, sometimes I think we should do that.” He pipes up suddenly.

You turn to him with a frown, and he peers down at you out of the corner of his eye, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Do what?”

“Make out.”

You snort out a surprised laugh, turning away from the window and folding your arms.

“Run that by me again?”

He looks away from the inside of the bar, turning his gaze to you with a smirk.

“Sometimes I think we should make out.”

There’s a beat.

“Ya know, as friends.”

“As friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Seems  _very_  friendly.” You quip as he steps closer into the V of your legs.

“I’m a friendly guy.”

“Harry Osborn, I know for a fact that isn’t true.”

“Ooft. You wound me.” He laughs, faking a look of offence. “Is this not friendly?”

“Seems a little more than that.” You murmur, running your hands up his arms, tugging him closer by the lapels of his jacket.

“Doesn’t have to be, if you don’t want it to be.” He smiles softly.

“Depends on what you have to show me.” You tilt your head up towards his and your noses brush slightly.

“Could show you a lot of things.” He grins lecherously, nuzzling his nose against yours, before looking away innocently. “As friends, of course.”

“Of course.” You echo with a smirk.

You’ll admit to yourself you’ve thought about this a few times before. There’s usually alcohol involved, and it’s the four of you together somewhere. Gwen and Peter shooting each other affectionate looks and Harry nudging you in the side and rolling his eyes. There’s been arms slung over your shoulder to ward off the freezing cold New York air, exasperated huffs when you insist on splitting the bill when you meet him for lunch during the week, and a mocking kiss on the back of your hand for a reason you can’t even remember.

But the entire time you’ve known him, he’s been nothing short of cocksure and you’ve never imagined Harry Osborn to be the type to be hesitant in anything he does. Which is why the soft brush of lips against yours is a surprise, and not like anything you’ve ever expected.

His touch is nervous and slow, his breath hitching in his throat as you respond, catching his top lip between yours. He presses himself closer to you, coaxing your mouth open, his lips soft and warm against yours. The angle means your noses are crushed together uncomfortably, but neither of you bother to correct it. The sounds of the bar leak through the open window behind you and the still ajar door, but all you can hear is your breathing, and you relish in the warm sweet breaths Harry lets out into your mouth, and the soft sound of his lips moving against yours.

Your hands scramble at the front of his leather jacket, settling on the lapels and tugging him closer and he falls forward, his teeth clacking painfully against yours.

He pulls away with a snort of laughter, hand cupping your face.

“What have you been drinking?” He murmurs, stroking his thumb over your chin. “Tastes good.”

“You mean to tell me Harry Osborn doesn’t recognise the taste of gin?” You breathe out, looking up to meet his eyes.

He makes a curious sound, his eyes fixed on your lips as he slides his hand around to cup the side of your face.

“Wasn’t the drink then.”

His lips press back to yours, your bottom lip captured between his. You trace your tongue on the inside of his bottom lip and his hand scrunches into your hair, tugging you closer. You whimper into his mouth and he groans against you, sliding his tongue against yours. You hook your arm around his neck pulling him closer and your noses press together awkwardly. He huffs out a laugh against your lips, tilting your head further upwards and deepening the kiss. Your fingers tangle in his hair and he responds enthusiastically, lips gliding pleasurably against your own. You pull away for air and he follows you, pressing short chaste kisses against your mouth, leaning his forehead against yours.

You sit like that for a moment, breathing heavily, your fingers smoothing his hair back down.

“Kinda wish I still smoked.” He murmurs suddenly against your lips.

“Mmm?”

“I think I may actually need a cigarette after that.”

“Oh god.” You groan, pushing him away gently. “You’re an idiot.”

He steps back underneath the heating lamp and you can’t help the laughter when you see his face.

“Oh my god! C’mere.” You giggle, tugging at his hands to bring him back into the bracket of your legs.

He lets himself be pulled back towards you, eyes darkening when you reach up to cup his face.

“Not so fast, hotshot.” You murmur.

He locks eyes with you and you feel your lips part softly of their own accord under the heat of his gaze. His eyes widen when you graze your thumb softly across his lip. You can’t help but smirk as you wipe firmly across his bottom lip and the side of his mouth. He frowns at you, and you hold up your hand in front of him. “Lipstick.”

“Oh.” He replies dumbly, before grinning. “Is it a good colour on me?”

You push him away with a laugh and he grins back, stepping forwards and cupping your face, kissing you fiercely.

The door swings open and he jumps away from you in shock as the door hits the wall loudly. Your head snaps to the direction of the door and your heart hammers in your chest when you see its Gwen, her phone pressed against her ear.

She waves at you both, before turning away, and you can tell by her exasperated tone of voice she’s talking to her brother.

You bite your lip turning back to Harry and he’s staring at you with an unreadable expression. You reach out and smooth out the lapels of his jacket before holding out your hands expectantly. He takes them and helps you jump off of the table. You look down at your legs to make sure your skirt is appropriately smoothed out, before looking back up at Harry.

He’s still staring at you with the same expression, and you’re not entirely sure what to make of it. You chance a glance at Gwen, who’s facing away from you both, then turn around to peer at Peter through the window, to see him tapping out a text on his own phone.

When you turn back around, Harry has taken a step closer and the atmosphere is different now, and his eyes are softer.

You lean up on your tiptoes, resting a hand on his cheek as you press a short sweet kiss to his lips.

“Hmm.” You smirk up at him, sweeping a thumb across his jawline. “Sharp as a razor indeed.”

He bursts out a laugh, swatting at your hand and digging his hands into his pockets.

“Hey!”

Gwen’s voice makes you both spring backwards as you look at her, eyes wide.

She doesn’t seem to notice your reactions though as she fumbles to put her phone back in her bag as she walks over to you both.

She stops just in front of you and finally looks up, before sniffing the air curiously.

“Thought you came out here for a smoke?” She asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I was able to convince him of the health benefits of not smoking.” You tilt your head in thought. “Plus, secondhand smoke is rude as fuck, and I wasn’t dealing with that either way.”

Harry barks out a laugh and nods. “She was very convincing. I think you’re looking at OsCorp’s new head of Marketing, to be honest.”

Gwen looks between you both, locking eyes with you and you know you’ve been busted.

She nods once, a smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“C’mon, let’s go back inside, it’s freezing out here.”

Harry walks in front of you both, flattening himself against the door as he holds it open.

“Ladies first.”

Gwen gives him a thankful smile as she re-enters the bar, and you in turn vocalise your gratitude.

He leans in close as you pass him, and his warm breath makes you shiver, a blush creeping up your neck.

“Hey, what are friends for?”


	13. Counting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aaaand some self indulgent Harry Osborn x reader x Pietro Maximoff because why the hell not?

Harry swigs at his tumbler of whiskey thoughtfully, foot jiggling in the air where it’s crossed on his knee.

Opposite him, Pietro drains his glass, his stare so fierce that Harry is surprised he hasn’t burst into flames already.

You’re completely oblivious to the hostile charge in the air, curled up on the sofa, giggling into your glass of wine.

“I’m glad you guys snuck away with me, these parties are always so  _boring._ ”

They both turn to you with matching quizzical looks, considering there’d been zero planned sneaking away on their part.

You’d found Pietro first, at the bar, chatting to a young woman whose dress somehow showed more cleavage than yours. All you’d needed to do was press yourself against his side and slip your hand in his and you were pretty sure he’d have followed you to the ends of the earth if you’d asked.

He’d trotted after you eagerly, fingers laced with yours as you’d led him off of the main floor and away from the pretentious hubbub of the gala. It was only when you’d pushed open the door at the end of a corridor, finally finding an empty room, that you realised you’d left your drink downstairs. You’d pushed at his shoulder gently, guiding him into the room with promises you’d be back soon. He’d nodded eagerly, settling into an armchair as he tugged at his tie and unbuttoning the top of his shirt, legs spread open in his slim cut trousers in an inviting manner that half made you want to forget the drink, and forget about your plan.

Back downstairs, Harry found you, before you found him. You’d been leaning casually against the bar waiting to order a new drink when an arm had slid around your waist, and the smell of expensive cologne had invaded your senses.

“Well, well, well.” He’d chuckled in your ear. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

You’d accepted the kiss on the cheek he gave you, spinning around in his arms

“Says the one who looks like he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards.” You’d scolded, straightening his tie, his Adam’s apple bobbing under your hands as he gulped.

“Hey, it got your pretty hands on me, didn’t it?” He’d smirked, tilting his head towards the bar. “What were you after? I’ll grab it for you.”

“Wine. A bottle of it, maybe two. Some whiskey too?” You’d grinned cheekily at him, grabbing at his arm affectionately. “It’s getting boring here, and I was going to go relax in one of the rooms upstairs. You can join me if you’d like.”

He’d stepped around the bar, swiping at a bottle of zinfandel he knew to be your favourite, and a bottle of his preferred whiskey to match.

“Lead the way, m’lady.” He’d laughed, ushering you towards the stairs, and  _oh_  their faces when you pushed that door open and they’d spotted each other.

“Yeah, well.” You’re snapped back into the present by Harry’s voice as he turns to match Pietro’s glare. “Y’know what they say. Three’s a crowd, two’s a party.”

You tilt your head thoughtfully, grinning into your glass as Pietro’s grip tightens on his own.

The tension in the air is palpable now as they stare at each other from across the coffee table. Harry’s fingers are tapping out an almost frantic rhythm of the leather armchair, and it sets you on edge, like a beat building up a crescendo. Pietro on the other hand is stock still, tension tight in his jaw in a way that would be frightening in another context, but right now all you can do is admire the sharp edge of his jawline.

You know for a fact the atmosphere won’t shift without your intervention, so you decide to push on, and give them something else to focus on.

“Why are you both sat so far away?” You murmur, holding out your hands towards both of them. “Come sit with me.”

You’re not quite sure which of the three of you are more shocked when Harry beats Pietro to the sofa, pressing himself close against your side. He drapes an arm lazily across the back above your shoulders. You shift slightly in your seat leaning your back into the crook of his arm, and he murmurs happily, pressing a kiss into the back of your perfectly preened updo. Pietro frowns before smirking lazily at you, sauntering slowly to where you’re sat. He curls his leg underneath him as he sits down next to you, back pressed against the arm of the sofa. He then takes great pleasure in taking your hand, kissing the back of it, smirking against your skin as your cheeks flush pink and Harry grumbles unhappily.

“In fact.” You say, tearing your eyes away from Pietro’s heated gaze and glancing down at your empty glass thoughtfully. “I want a refill.”

You stand up, wobbling slightly as your stilettos dig into the plush carpet. Pietro’s hand shoots out to grab at yours holding you steady at the same time Harry places a hand against the curve of your hip, stopping you from falling backwards.

“My heroes.” You laugh, kicking off your heels, wincing slightly as they clunk heavily against the wood of the coffee table.

You wander over to the side table where Harry dumped the drinks earlier, and pour yourself a new glass of wine.

“You boys want refills?” You ask, leaning against the mahogany. They both shake their heads, Harry raising his still full glass towards you in a kind of salute. You nod, swigging at the wine, relishing in the undertones of strawberry, offset by the familiar bitterness. You admire them both for a second, without you pressed in between them, both of them are half splayed across the sofa, their eyes heavy on you, and you know you have them.

“Is it just me or is it warm in here?” You ask, fanning yourself with your hand and huffing, making your hair blow upwards for a second as you reach up on your tiptoes to crack open the frosted window next to you.

“Warm.” Pietro confirms. “Is very warm.”

“A satin dress was a bad choice.” You huff again, walking back over to the sofa, and then turning your back to them both.

"Can you help me with this zipper?" You murmur, putting your glass down on the coffee table and sweeping your hair over your shoulder to reveal the offending fixture of your floor length gown.

They’re both off of the sofa in an instant, hands bumping into each other as they reach out for the zip.

“Listen, kid. The lady was talking to me.” Harry deadpans, pushing Pietro’s hand away.

“Kid?!” Pietro barks out a laugh. “I’m pretty sure I’m older than you, you stuck up asshole.”

“Listen here, Maximoff. You need to learn when you’re beat. Following us and speeding into the room before we can get there? A real class act.”

“Follow you?!” Pietro cries incredulously. “ _You’re_  the one who followed us in here, she asked  _me_.”

“No. She asked  _me_. Just like she asked  _me_  to help her with her dress. Pick up on social cues, and get the hell out, blondie.”

“Blondie? Fuck off, you  _spiriduş_.” Pietro hisses, jabbing a finger into Harry’s chest.

“Hey.” You murmur softly, flattening your palms against both of their chests and they both fall silent. You sweep your thumbs soothingly and they both let out a breath, their anger seemingly dissipating. You hesitantly bring your hands back down to your sides, glancing between the both of them.

Then Pietro hisses something under his breath to Harry, and then they’re at it again, squabbling like children. You sigh heavily at the realisation that without quick and drastic measures, this isn’t going to end the way you’d planned. You’d been enjoying the wine too, seems a shame you won’t finish it.

Harry and Pietro both freeze at the sound of a zipper sliding down slowly and look up just in time to see your dress fall from your shoulders and pool at your feet.

Their twin intakes of breath are sharp and loud in the sudden silence of the room, and you feel yourself smirk in pride, suddenly glad that you wore a dress that necessitated going braless.

“Now, boys. Are you quite finished? Or are we just getting started?”


End file.
